Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs
by stelianqueen
Summary: An analysis of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs in five short oneshots, applied to five different characters.
1. Level 1: Physical

_Level 1- Physical: The need to satisfy basic needs of hunger, thirst, sleep, and shelter._

Mary was hungry. Starving, even. She looked at, thought of, food, and, against herself, her mouth began to water, just imagining the taste, the _feeling _of not being deprived. And yet, she couln't bring herself to eat. Not anymore, or she felt gross, sick, like a monster. Horrible. And she knew there was only one way for Mary to ease that feeling.

It was selfish, she knew. People around her were literally _dying _for food, and there she was: offered food, and turning it down, or wasting it with her finger. The prees needed her. The daycare system would collapse without her, Mother Mary. John could try, she knew. He'd try to handle things with the few volunteers they had, but it would never work, not for long. She wasn't trying to starve herself; just trying to satisfy the poison in her mind that wouldn't let up. She knew she should eat. She knew she shouldn't throw up. Yet, there was no way to stop it.

She'd tried, before. Collapsing on the bathroom floor, huddled up, her malnourished body racked with sobs. She was disgusted with herself, the pure selfishness of herself, and she could not stop. Mary had whispered promises to herself, empty ones, such as: _"You're fine, you're beautiful, you don't need to lose more, you shouldn't be doing this, you're hurting yourself, YOU'RE FINE." _ As if it were an antidote. But posion never gave in. It never would.

Mary tried to smile for the littles. It was difficult- every time her lips pulled into an artificial, saleswoman smile, she just felt worse. But the littles were her responsibility, and she wasn't going to cry. Not in front of them. Even if she had to smile through her tears, a smile more fake than the illusinary sky, she tried to. And they didn't know the difference. _Lucky kids, _she couldn't help but think.

"Mother Mary," she whispered to her reflection with a short, unenthusiastic laugh. "Born on Mothers' Day. Can look after every little in Perdido Beach. And yet, can't take care of herself."


	2. Level 2: Safety

_Level 2- Safety: need to be secure from danger_

There were many things that he hated about himself- something that, even when the English language was gibberish with a few recognizable words and the living was too easy (and yet, too complicated), he was told, repeatedly, that were not true, but were common.

And yet, the one that stood out the most: running away.

It was compulsive, really. A reaction that had been drilled into his head after five years of being on his own. If there was anything, _anything, _even slightly abnormal, Sanjit felt this deep-rooted urge to just run. Get away. Flee. Because, it had been simple, when he needed the reflex. That's how he stayed alive- fleeing. There was no safety, not guaranteed. Assumptions got you killed.

Sanjit wasn't a fighter. He never was, and he knew he never could be. And he knew that part of that stemmed from the fact that he'd been only three years old, terrified, staring at a world too big to be real- alone. He'd had help, at first. But still- when you're that young, no matter the circumstances, you don't fight. It's not a reaction yet fully formed in your mind yet. It was the fact that he could run- and fast, very fast- that kept him alive for those years.

And it's skills like those that are so hard to forget. It was diagnosed as acute stress disorder, and luckily enough, the pills took away enough of the symptoms that he at least acted human. The triggers were easy enough to avoid, after he'd started blocking out the memories and managing to at least act like he was alright. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't.

Before, things were simpler. Sanjit had figured out the way things worked, and that was it. There were no expectations forced on him, no one depending on him (besides Sunan, but that was once), and he knew how to live. That was it. And then came a new world. Totally different. It wasn't that he liked his life in Bangkok better. He didn't. But he at least knew the way things went. Being "Wisdom", son of Jenifer Brattle and Todd Chance, wasn't how he knew things to be.

Still, he was alive, and that was good- wasn't it?


	3. Level 3: Belonging

**__**So, I realize this one's long overdue. :/ Sorry!

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><p><strong><em>Level 3- BELONGING: <em>_need to love and be loved, need to belong_**

"Love", for Orc, was kind of an obsolete word. It wasn't the kind of feeling he really recognized, even if he heard it tossed around by the girl holding hands with her boy in the hallway and the sounds as they kissed and the fight that happened a week later when they broke up. Maybe the basis of it was there, and he recognized it, but what it really was he didn't know.

Sure, maybe looking at her, Astrid, he felt this feeling, and it was so strange, just this… thing. And he couldn't describe it. And he never felt it at any other time. He had before, but it was just a short thing, and went away right away as soon as it came on, and he supposed it was just some sort of feeling and that was it.

'Cause it wasn't the kind of thing he was really familiar with, was it? There was (had been) that hole on his hand where he still (used to) feel the drill forcing its way through his skin and flesh and sometimes felt the weight of the hammer in his hands and her voice, at first flat and then rising in intensity, and she just repeated it, all the time, _"__Kill 'im and you burn in Hell," _and it was over and over again, boring down on him and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think to, couldn't remember how 'cause he was being weighed down, all the time, a lead weight on his chest and it never went away.

He was a killer, though, wasn't he? And now he was in Hell, and he was covered in gravel, and he was losing it, every second. There had been Bette, and then there had been that sick boy at a stop sign and he couldn't _stand _it. Because this was Hell, wasn't it? "Fallout Alley Youth Zone"? He was dead, he'd died, and this was God punishing him for what he'd done, and that would be perfectly normal, if the FAYZ hadn't started before  
>Bette died.<p>

_Kill 'im and you burn in Hell._

"I ain't a killer," Orc whispered, almost silently, just hoping no one had heard him. "I wasn't one, before."

Because, he wondered, looking at the stacks of cases in the corner, what would happen if (when) the beer ran out? When the alcohol was done completely and there wasn't any way to numb himself- and even that was barely helping now- and then what would he do? He wanted to die. Orc wanted to die. He couldn't stand it. Being a murderer, a monster made of gravel, and he wanted out.

_Kill 'im and you burn in Hell._

But if this was Hell on Earth (or wherever they were), then what was the real one like? Even if Orc didn't really believe in his mother's precious God, or anyone else's god, there wasn't a Heaven afterwards that would let him in.

And he sucked at dying.

'Cause he didn't love, not anymore, never had, but still got that feeling with Astrid and had Howard with him all of the time but he knew Howard was just there for the power, 'cause Howard would have been nowhere, nothing without Orc and maybe he felt a little bit of that feeling with Howard but it was hardly anything, and he'd come to ignore, after all of this time.

_Kill 'im and you burn in Hell._

And that was what he was doing. Even if he wasn't in Hell. Yet.


	4. Level 4: Feeling Recognized

_Level 4- FEELING RECOGNIZED: need to achieve, need to be recognized _

Astrid didn't hate Little Pete.

Deep down, she knew that. Sometimes she forgot, and sometimes she looked at him and her very being was filled with contempt and hatred and she wanted to just end it, end him, there and be done with it.

She hadn't always been such an insufferable know-it-all, at least, she thought that way. Sure, she had always had above average intelligence, and she was a bit in your face about it, but she'd never been too up front abojut that. Usually, she would just sit there in class, quiet, talked sometimes but not too often, and just... was.

And then Petey came around.

She'd been ten years old. And, honestly, when you're at that age, you're confused. Not quite a child, and not wuite a teenager, you're at that awkward phase of life. Astrid hadn't minded the idea of a little brother, at first. Really, she was kind of looking forward to it.

And then they realized what was wrong with him, discovered the autism, and then her life shifted. One minute, her parents were focused on her, their little girl, their only child, little Astie. (even if she had hated the 'little' parts, and the nickname Astie in general) The next; Peter Ellison, who never really acknowledged their presence,

It hadn't been too bad, at first. She knew that their focus on him was for a reason, a good reason, and they still loved her, still paid attention to her. Because they did, and up to the FAYZ, still did. But she knew that, especially at first, the conversations she'd had were only half-genuine on their part, and Pete always seemed to freak out during them.

So, she decided after a full-on freak out on Petey's part where she spent the entire time trying to show her straight-A report card, she'd try harder. It was selfish thinking, really; and extremely flawed, but what did it matter? She was young, she wasn't getting the attention she'd wanted, and she was sick of it.

Astrid studied. She studied hard, throwing herself into advanced Algebra textbooks borrowed from the library that she only half understood but was determined to get through. And she started to show it off, more and more, until she accidentally landed herself in the role of Astrid the Genius.

And then the FAYZ came.

It had been eight months. Eight months since the wall came up, eight months of being the sole guardian of Little Pete, eight months of no adults, little food, and the fights everywhere. Eight months with Sam.

Eight months too many.


	5. Level 5: SelfActualization

**SORRY ABOUT THIS- I'VE BEEN DONE FOR A WHILE BUT FORGOT TO UPDATE IT. :/**

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><p><strong>Level 5- REACHING POTENTIAL: <strong>need for self-actualization

There was so much more Quinn could be.

And, looking at everyone, really looking at everyone, he knew that same thing applied to every single person who had been in the FAYZ. They could have been great people, amazing people, important people. Doctors, lawyers, artists, anything. And that one barrier had destroyed all of that.

The FAYZ had stolen them from themselves. Teenagers becoming adults, just so suddenly, too early. And then all of that being over, in the blink of an eye, sent them reeling.

There was a 40% suicide rate of FAYZ kids. Counting the moofs who had been driven insane with the pressures put on them with their powers, counting the ones who had been touched by the Gaiaphage, counting the ones who only realized what they had done after the whole thing was over and couldn't live with themselves.

And there were the therapists who worked overtime and only tried to support the kids who came to them all the time, tried to coax the ones who couldn't even leave their beds, the ones who never even spoke anymore.

All gone, now. All that they could be.

The first weeks were hell. Dodged with questions and still not over being back in the real world, having to forget the year spent completely independent, having to forget everything you'd done and should have done.

_"It's not your fault," _she had said, her voice even, probably reciting the same words she'd said to dozens of others. "_You were under stress, and no one can relate to what you've been through."_

Quinn still woke up suddenly in the middle of the night after dreams of a gun and a coyote and a little kid. Even though that had been... how long ago? Over a year? The Coates kids, the Thanksgiving battle, even just lights being on, felt so long ago now. But there were still memories. Still a few memories that lingered there and never, ever let go.

He never saw Sam, not anymore. Said a few words to him before he left to someplace in Michigan, apparently. He didn't remember. There were a lot of things that he couldn't remember, even if they were from after the barrier came down. And nearly everything from before the FAYZ was completely gone, replaced with memories from the world inside. He never saw his crew anymore, either; some of them left the area and some of them stayed, but they didn't really visit each other. The time for them was over, he thought.

Some people got better. Some of them did, after a month or two, managed to regain some sense of normalcy. Quinn knew this couldn't be completely true, couldn't be that easy to get over more than a year in a whole new world, but... maybe some people coped better than others. Maybe some people could get over life in the FAYZ pretty quickly. It seemed impossible at that moment, but maybe it was true. Just maybe.

There were reporters all over them. It was impossible to turn on the news and not have the Anomaly, as it was called to the outsiders, mentioned at least once. Quinn supposed this was reasonable. They had been isolated from the adults for over a year, but it still irritated him to hear about it all of the time and have people try to sympathize and do it horribly because unless you were there and you remembered the things you'd done to survive and you went through all of that and you tried to suddenly go back to real life, you'd never be able to sympathize.

It was like everything had turned back. He had felt so much better, later on in the FAYZ, when all of the good memories of the previous world were gone and replaced by this new world and he'd gotten used to things, had something to do, had his crew with him, and things actually felt better. And now it was like he could remember everything that had happened, every little thing that shouldn't matter but did. Back to feeling so empty inside and wanting to cry but also not wanting to and then putting on that fake smile instead.

Maybe someday things would get better. Maybe someday they'd actually do something better than sit around with their minds still in the FAYZ. But that day certainly hadn't come yet.


End file.
